


A Portrait of Our Past

by under_a_linden_tree



Series: under_a_linden_tree's SOSH Guess the Author fics [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1970s, Art, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Ficlet, Gen, Museums, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_linden_tree/pseuds/under_a_linden_tree
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale visit a museum shortly after restarting their friendship. A piece of art affects the angel unexpectedly.
Series: under_a_linden_tree's SOSH Guess the Author fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016013
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #2 NGK and Other Noises





	A Portrait of Our Past

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Guess the Author, so the fic had to be 500 words or less.

_ Art from the Eastern Roman Provinces - special exhibition, summer 1970 _ , the banner over the entrance read. It was a garish green on a yellow background, hanging half-crooked across the doorway.

Aziraphale glanced at the brochure Crowley had nicked from the cash desk. Tiny letters and numbers were dotted across it, indicating the individual objects. The angel had been very excited to see this exhibition, a small collection of pagan and Christian art, so Crowley had joined him. Their newly-wrought friendship was still strained, and he appreciated every one of these moments together.

Aziraphale wandered casually through the first room, taking a long time to inspect the objects. Finely-crafted gold necklaces with portrait medallions, plates of painted glass and little figurines of soldiers. Crowley was always looming over his shoulder, remembering things he’d owned or giggling at a slightly misshapen marble bust. Well, maybe that was the wrong word for it -- it looked funny with its exaggerated, long proportions. The man had looked nothing like this.

After a while, Aziraphale ambled across the room into the next. Crowley stopped behind him and sneezed.

“Smells foul in here,” he said, nose wrinkled. He felt like he’d soon sneeze again.

Aziraphale smirked. “Oh, that will be the religious art.”

He went over to the first cabinet and stood there for a while, studying the brochure. Crowley didn’t really notice when it started, but suddenly, he could hear a rather sharp intake of breath. It was followed by a wet sound that seemed a lot more nasal and a not-entirely-subtle  _ harrumph _ . A few seconds passed, nearly quiet, and Crowley could see how Aziraphale raised an arm and rubbed at his face. In the time it took Crowley to cross the room, another stifled sob echoed through the almost empty exhibition.

“Gosh, angel, what’s got into you?” he asked and admittedly he sounded a little concerned even to himself.

Aziraphale smiled at him and it seemed genuine. He wiped at his eyes once more and raised a hand to point at a small tile leant against the wood. A wall was painted across it, a bit botchy in its execution, with a shining star on top of it. There was a line of sand, from which a tree grew, dotted with red fruit. A snake curled around it. Crowley grinned. It was him, most definitely.

“Isn’t it nice? It’s you and me,” Aziraphale whispered.

“You and me?”

Aziraphale nodded and pointed at the small star above the wall. It shone like gold, clear and… joyful, even. “That’s me. They used to paint angels like that -- stars I mean. Quite fitting, isn’t it? I knew the girl who painted it, she loved to hear this story.”

Aziraphale fell quiet again, the faint smile still on his lips. No matter how much Crowley tried to coax the story out of him, the angel wouldn’t say, but he felt a strange kind of melancholy when he looked at the painting again, like he’d lost something dear to him.


End file.
